


lover and confidant

by hellgym



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Awkward Kissing, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, No Sex, One Shot, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:30:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4495437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellgym/pseuds/hellgym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the night after helping James Garret with his sexbot problem, the courier refuses to leave well enough alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lover and confidant

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in response to a prompt from an ask meme but it got a little away from me. It's also my first completed fic ever.... This is so self indulgent lol but I actually finished it instead of giving up three paragraphs in so whom care

 

“Christ, did you see the way his eyes lit up?” 

“Please don’t remind me,” Arcade says with a grimace. “I’m really trying not to think about it.” 

“Good plan.” Chance rolls toward him and the springs in the derelict mattress creak. “Whatever you do, don't imagine James Garret rock hard, pupils blown with lust, _quivering_ in anticipation-”

“You’re a monster,” Arcade says, and covers his face with a hand.

Chance’s grin widens in response and wrinkles play at the corner of his eyes. He inches closer, propping himself up by his elbow, draping his other arm lazily over Arcade’s chest.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Chance says, voice low and teasing.

Then in one only slightly clumsy movement, he’s upright and straddling Arcade, their thighs pressed close. The man's fingers trace a leisurely path down the slope of his jaw.

The courier’s eyes glint in the dim light, bright and wicked behind cracked lenses. “I bet he’s _assuming the position_ as we speak.”

“I don’t have to put up with this,” Arcade says in a mock-threatening tone, though his face is flushed and hot. “I'll remind you again, my services are _ad vitam aut culpam_. This qualifies as ‘doing something obnoxious.’”

Chance ignores him. “Oh, _Fisto_ ,” he moans, leaning in until his lips just barely brush Arcade’s ear.

Shivers run down his spine even as Arcade snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Take me now-” The courier continues in a breathy falsetto, his voice cracking on the last word.

There’s a stunned pause, then both men erupt into uncontrollable laughter.

Chance goes pliant and collapses against him. Face buried in Arcade’s shoulder, he dissolves into hysterics, gasping for breath against the cotton of his shirt.

Arcade leans his head against the courier’s and joins in with such abandon that tears prick at his eyes.

It’s obscenely late, he knows, and this won’t even merit a chuckle in the morning, but it doesn’t matter. It feels like the first time in years he’s felt happy, content just to hold and be held, to find joy in something meaningless without life creeping up and pressing the cold steel of reality to his jugular.

The world can wait one night, damn it.

Once he’s regained control of his muscles and breathing, Chance unearths his face and treats Arcade to a grin that is as lopsided and genuine as it is wild.

He’s seen it a few times before, plastered across Chance’s face after emerging victorious from a close call or some particularly good sex.

It’s striking how different it is from his usual movie-star smile, which Arcade has come to realize is just a tool. This, he understands, this is _real_.

Dark curls flop in the courier’s face, his glasses are askew, and in his eyes there’s such raw, unguarded affection that an odd feeling twists in Arcade’s gut. It’s both terribly warm and terribly frightening.

It blows any and all thought clean from Arcade’s mind. He grabs a fistful of Chance’s shirt and yanks him down.

Glasses clatter and noses bump. It’s possibly the clumsiest kiss Arcade has ever had while sober. Only seconds pass before they break apart, laughing helplessly into the side of each other’s faces.

This close, all Arcade can focus on is the warmth of his body and the scent of his skin, that lingering trace of well-worn leather and subtler notes of sweat, dust, and sun that sit beneath. He feels drunk with it.

Chance peppers his jaw, then neck with breathless, increasingly wet kisses. Calloused fingers tangle in Arcade’s hair and he can feel chapped lips smile against his mouth.

It’s then he realizes.

The thought doesn’t come the way he always imagined it would. Growing up on tales of star-crossed lovers, stories of passions so fierce they brought nations to their knees, one forms certain expectations.

There’s no clap of divine thunder, no great, earth-shattering force to herald its coming. Instead, it’s like something settles in Arcade’s chest, quiet and firm, an absolute truth.

He kisses Chance again, laughs as he laughs, tastes the salt on his lips, and basks in the feeling that this is _right_. Arcade is in bed with a man who has unexpectedly become both lover and confidant, and, for just one night, all is well in the Mojave.

**Author's Note:**

> ad vitam aut culpam- for life or until fault


End file.
